A Touch of Ash
by InkStainedEyes
Summary: It was just one week. Within the span of the days a teenage girl experiences strange and horrific dreams, a woman with a troubling past, an obsessed curator, and figures clad in leather, one of which seems to draw her in with promises of pain and pleasure unknown. All because she agreed to study a puzzle box... (OC/OC and Kirsty/Pinhead)
1. Chapter 1: Taste

**Warning: The following fiction contains graphic (sexual, violent) imagery that may be unsuitable for those under the age of 18. If the following things: (Choking, bloodplay, blindness, manipulation, more to be added) disturb or discomfort you, do NOT proceed to the following story.**

**(Although I guess that's kind of the point of Hellraiser...)**

* * *

Chapter 1: Taste

Her eyes snapped open accompanied by a gasp for air, and Saige rolled over to pull the stupid box out from under her pillow.

What had possessed her to think that was a good idea? The cube glistened a blackish-gold even in the dark of her room, and though she couldn't make out her reflection, she saw the twinkling of sweat on her brow.

That dream had been _intense _– possibly the strangest thing the teenager had ever experienced. She pushed her messy curls out of her face and turned the box over in her hands, playing the events over and over.

It had begun with the feeling of ash on her tongue – not ash alone, but a finger in her mouth, covered in the burnt power and firmly running over the inside of her mouth before pulling out and cradling her cheek.

"She stays with me," a voice said – she assumed it was male, but she wasn't sure if it was even human. A slight echo carried it around her as the second hand she hadn't noticed gripping her jaw moved down to her neck, tightening a bit, and the finger slipped back into her mouth when she gasped for air.

She couldn't see, only feel, and hear, and taste – and now smell as a rich odor, coppery and burnt and slightly like vanilla filled her nostrils. For some reason it made her weak, and her shoulders fell lax from their tensed position. She was standing, she was aware of that, and the figure with their – his? – hands on her stood above where she was, taller.

"She stays with _us," _another voice added, possibly female and guttural in sound, and she heard another grunt from her side.

"The others can stay with you," the first voice said again – he was stroking her tongue with two fingers now, she didn't know why she hadn't opened her eyes as he took it between his thumb and index finger and rubbed. "This girl shall stay in my chambers." His index finger shifted to slide down her throat, and she gagged before it eased in.

She could taste blood under his fingernails.

The fingers retracted and the hand loosened, only to scratch and draw blood from the line of her jaw. She tried to steady her breathing and felt warm air against her open mouth, like she was going to be kissed, and the hand that had nearly choked her pushed the tangles of sweaty brown hair out of her face, tapped her eyelids.

Light flooded into her vision around a shadowy figure, face centimeters from hers –

And that was where it ended, and she was in her bed in a mass of sheets that had tangled around her legs. Saige moved her hands to her neck – no blood, only hot sweat and clingy hair. Her breath was slowly evening out, and as she pulled the cube out to stare at it, she swallowed in an effort to moisten her dry mouth.

The taste of ash still lingered.

* * *

As it turned out, that taste would continue to linger the rest of the day as she worked – it went away when she ate or drank, but as soon as any taste faded from her mouth it was back, and she could feel a tingling in the back of her throat. She found herself in the bathroom, checking her mouth for any discoloration. It looked fine enough…

"So, did you find anything interesting about it?"

She nearly jumped out of her skin at the voice that interrupted her inspection, and she whirled around to face her coworker.

"Oh, uh-" She'd been supposed to inspect the puzzle box, a piece donated to the museum anonymously, and had recorded some of the progress she'd make with learning its mechanics. The drawings of different forms she got it into were all submitted that morning. "Yeah, I turned them in already. Really interesting – whoever made it was really good, the whole thing works perfectly."

"Huh, that's weird, it's old as balls from what I saw." Susan leaned towards her own reflection to check her teeth, and scratched off a bit of lunch that had snuck in. "Did you take pictures?"

"Drawings, I'm not great with cameras," Saige muttered while tying her hair back behind her head. This stupid mass of brown and black… "Still, it's really cool. I can't tell who made it, though. Time period and all that."

"Renaissance?"

"No… it's weird, the thing moves like a modern machine, and yet… it seems medieval or something, but I still haven't placed it. Gonna try again tonight."

The voice lingered in her head, and she could almost feel somebody smirking behind her as Susan gave a vague goodbye and walked out while Saige washed her hands.

The ash taste got thicker in her mouth.

* * *

The afternoon passed without much excitement, and after closing up shop for the day Saige walked across the street to the old-fashioned diner with glaring neon lights.

The greasy burger and ketchup helped to allay the ash, and she studied the box again, ignoring the quiet stares of one or two other customers. She took a chocolate milkshake to go, and it was when she started drinking it on the way to the bus stop that she felt a hand on her shoulder.

"You don't know what you're getting into."

The woman was possibly in her thirties, a pale sort of pretty with hair that seemed to be breaking out from an ironing as it formed waves around her head. Her eyes were tired, and fearful, and a bit… angry?

"Who gave you that box?"

"It's from the museum," Saige answered, taking a step back and half-expecting a gun to be pointed at her. "I'm just looking at it for the night… what's it to you?"

"Don't," the woman shook her head, "just don't… don't open it, don't get curious. Once they choose you they never give up trying to find you, they're impossible…"

A phone number was shoved into Saige's hands, and the woman stared at her mournfully. "Call, if you try to open it. Call and run, tell me where to meet you, and whatever you do, _don't _let anybody else know you have it. Keep it locked away, people want it who don't understand what it is."

"I gotta… catch the bus…" Saige took a step back. She crammed the number in her pocket, giving a weak nod before turning and walking as fast as she could to the corner.

In spite of herself, after a night of studying the thing, she slid it under her pillow again. Before turning out the light, she took one look at the phone number scribbled on a napkin – rather, the name that was written above it.

Kirsty Cotton.


	2. Chapter 2: Smell

Chapter 2: Smell

Darkness again, but instead of being surrounded by the figures and unable to open her eyes, Saige was standing and facing two of them, barely able to make out silhouettes in the pitch black.

The taller of the two, she could see, had open wounds on his chest and glistening points, like needles, protruding from his head. Weapons clinked and clattered at each other from his belt, and pitch black eyes peered at her, distant and observant.

The other was just a hair shorter than the first, wearing the same sort of dark garments, ribs exposed with strips of glistening red, each row of bone lined across the center of the rib with rings of metal, connected by straps of leather. His arms were covered but the leather was burnt, and if it had meant to cover his hands only the thumbs were still wrapped in fabric. She could see what at first looked like dust falling from his fingertips.

The smell from last night came back, stronger to the point of being dizzying, and she realized the powder on his hands was ash.

The silence as she stared at his hands was deafening, broken only by the clanging of chains, but even that was muted and far away in her mind. The scent was even stronger, and Saige fought off choking from it by breathing through barely parted lips.

For what felt like forever, the only thing that moved was her gaze. She kept scanning both of them, or trying to, unable to find the second figure's face in the darkness. Her eyes travelled to his head, and she attempted to focus, barely finding the shadows of a nose and lips, blue and gray in tones.

Finally the one she'd spent more energy on moved his head, oh so slightly, and the shift was enough to make her realize that the entire top half of his head, from above his nostrils and up, was encased in a metal shell.

There were no holes for eyes.

"Welcome back," the figure spoke, and it was the same voice as before, and Saige couldn't breathe with this smell…

Her eyes shut and her hands clasped over her face, and she tried to block it out and get oxygen into her system. When her eyes opened again the first figure was gone, and the second put his hand on her throat from behind, pushing her head up and backwards and tightening like it had the night before.

She had a choice, she knew – try to bear with the smell or gasp for air and endure the same as the night before, ash and strange dominating, intimate touches on the inside of her mouth. Was it seduction or a threat? She didn't know.

"Most would fight back." His voice was quieter now, curious possibly, even as it seemed blanketed in a monotone. "Or run, or beg… you don't even shake."

… He was right. Her brow somehow furrowed.

"Do I not strike fear into you, human?" He tilted his head slightly, bored and a bit… amused? She wasn't sure, just as she was unsure why she didn't move or pull away when there was nothing restraining her. "Answer me, Saige."

That did it. At the sound of her own name she stumbled back, and the clanking sounds of the chains were sharp as needles. Instinct told her to look over her shoulder at the sight of glinting metal rushing at her –

It missed. The harpoon grazed the shoulder of her nightgown, barely, and she looked at the scrap of fabric on the ground to him, eyes concealed but mouth forming an expression like intrigue.

"You didn't flinch." And she hadn't – she'd looked at the projectile without so much as blinking, although she had held her breath. He walked towards her again and she tensed, waiting for another attack, wary but still curious.

"Do you feel fear, Saige Simmons?" He knew her _full _name, too? "Do you not wish to escape from this place, back to the comfort of your bed and apartment?"

"Yes," she found her voice, shaky but loud enough to hear, "but I still don't understand where I am."

Damn her. Damn her need to know, her insatiable need to _know _instead of walk away. She was in trouble now, she was sure, as he strode over, cassock dusting the stone floor as the ashy hand tilted up her face.

"Your mind is with us, Saige Simmons. Here in the Labyrinth of Leviathan, a dimension of extremities and knowledge beyond human comprehension. Your visit last night was shorter than I'd hoped." A smile, and nails again scratched at her neck and face. "I looked forward to seeing you again."

"Why?" Saige was frozen again, pain starting to work its way to her head. "What do you want?"

"Open the box, Saige Simmons. I have such treasures to share with you."

* * *

Saige woke up an hour early, eyes wide and hand on her neck. She could feel faint lines of what seemed like weeks-old scratches, even though it had been minutes before that she'd been bleeding. She didn't go back to sleep or pull the box out from under her pillow. She ran to the phone and picked up the number, hand moving to dial her mother.

She stopped, reality sinking in. Her mother wasn't one for nonsense – she'd scoff at her daughter for calling at this hour over nightmares, remind her that _she _was the one who'd insisted on taking this out of town internship and be independent. Her mother wouldn't take any of it seriously, even with the scratches…

Even with the rip in Saige's nightgown.

Saige Simmons ran to her discarded jeans from yesterday and pulled out the sheet of paper before dialing, hoping that she wouldn't disturb the woman's family. Crazy trusting a stranger? Yes, but Kirsty Cotton seemed to know something.

* * *

"You see yourself in her, child."

"Stop it." Kirsty did not face the mirror where his image gazed at her, bare brow raised.

"She looks like you, in the hair and eyes. That same innocent look that you had, Kirsty, when you first encountered us. And she was brave like you, as well – I can understand your concern."

"I said stop it!" She whirled around, glaring at black eyes that as always were unfazed by her anger. No, it was tenderness that confused him, she knew, but she held no form of affection for him or the man in the black and white photograph now that the possibility of history repeating presented itself.

She was just a child. They both were, although the girl holding the box so delicately seemed a bit older than Kirsty had been, maybe 18. But 18 was still too young, _Kirsty _was too young, there was nobody old enough to experience that world and all of its absolute horror.

"All of these years and still so much spirit… you are always welcome to come back, Kirsty. We are waiting here for you."

"Enough!"

The mirror was empty of any face but her own as the illusion was shattered by a sharp chime.

The phone was ringing. Kirsty ran to it and picked it up, not believing for a moment the girl would actually call, praying she'd been smart and thrown the box away.

Her heart dropped in her chest at a young girl's voice. "Hi, is this a Ms. Cotton…?"

"Did you open it?" It was automatic – she still had the box. "Is anything happening?"

"No, it's under my pillow right now, but I've been having these weird dreams…"

"Hide it. Put it somewhere safe and do not bring it with you. I'll meet you at the diner for lunch."

Was it suspect? Yes. But she really only had this one shot to save somebody from the same fate.

Kirsty Cotton scribbled down the girl's number in the caller ID and started getting ready. The Cenobite known as Pinhead did not visit her again.


	3. Chapter 3: Lunch Meeting

_I live! Sorry that took so long, college is kind of a thing. I'm gonna try and post some one-shots for Saige and the not-yet-named Cenobite later this week, though._

* * *

Chapter 3: Hearing

Saige didn't have time much of that morning to contemplate her meeting - the curator made sure of that. A pale, balding man with a merry smile and a suit worn out from him moving about just slightly too fast, he was energetic and honestly not the best candidate for interaction with non-morning people. Saige had been smart enough to get two cups of coffee, however, and somehow managed to keep up.

Question after question, she was asked for anything and everything she knew about the donated box and if she'd opened it – no, she hadn't, but she'd studied its construction and taken notes, still with no clues as to what the patterns on it meant or why it was made. She showed him the diagrams she'd drawn of the different shapes she'd managed to make with it, seemingly endless – whoever had built it was a genius, considering how flexible it had been.

The only problem the curator had was that she didn't have it – it was stored in one of the museum's safes until after lunch, when she intended to continue her study of the thing.

This was a lie. The box was in her locker, and yet she found herself lying through her teeth – as much as that thing scared the living daylights out of her by this point, she didn't want anyone else touching it either, or opening it before she did.

She didn't want him to have it, and she didn't know why.

* * *

Lunch was eaten in silence for the first few minutes, Saige staring down at her fries while the woman called Kirsty checked her watch over and over, even with the old-timey clock hanging on the wall in front of her.

She really did look like Kirsty in her teenage years – at least her hair was the same curly mess, and they had the same eye color. The rest of her looked nothing like the older woman – her skin was a soft brown and her eyes were almond shaped – Kirsty guessed there was some Filipino blood mixed in despite the girl's American accent.

"These dreams…" Kirsty finally said after ten minutes of slow, uncomfortable eating, "They're dark, right? Chains and people in black leather…"

"Yeah," Saige said after swallowing a mouthful of hamburger, "leather and… metal." She didn't want to talk about the mutilations and the one who had seemed so keen on making sure she felt completely without personal space.

She _still _tasted ash under her tongue, damn it all.

"They talked really strangely… it was super-dignified and formal, like they were some sort of weird nobility. They definitely thought they were in charge of me."

"Did you get hurt? Was anything overwhelming?"

"The _smell, _oh my god. I could hardly breathe." She was whispering until the word _smell, _but went back to her quiet tone right after. She felt incredibly weird talking about the past couple of nights out in public – it was like openly discussing hookups. Some people were A-OK with that sort of discussion, but it was still weird to Saige.

"I remember that." Kirsty was frowning, studying the girl. She must have dealt with this too, or something like it… Saige wanted to ask her some questions as well, but Kirsty spoke up again.

"Anything else? Have you seen them here?"

"No, they're trapped in the box. Or waiting… oh," She turned and lifted some hair away. "I woke up with those scratches." She _really _didn't want to mention the ripped nightgown in public.

"You were lucky." Kirsty said it so casually, like it was obvious. "You were very lucky, Saige. You might not have woken up."

"The one that talked to me… why did he want me to open the box? Why's it so important?"

"It's a contract, sort of. Opening the box is how you tell them you want to go to their world, permanently, but it's not just joining them. You're giving yourself to them, to do whatever they think you want to you. They think it's a service."

"So… their bodies… and the stuff that was…" she could barely even try to refer to the awful, awful mutilations that mapped out their skin.

"Much, much worse. Sometimes they let people go, if they're tricked into opening it… but you already know what it does now." Kirsty was ignoring her food in favor of focusing completely on the teenager, and pulled out a piece of leaf that had lodged itself into Saige's hair.

"So I just don't open it, right? That shouldn't be hard." Saige's voice was doubtful even as she said it, nothing this weird could be as simple as that. Kirsty shook her head.

"It's easy to get curious. You tinker with it, see what it does, but somehow just the right sequence of turns and they've got you."

"What happens then?" Saige's phone alarm went off, signifying it was time to head back to work, and Saige stood, handing Kirsty the napkin she'd scrawled her cellphone number on. "Text me," she said, and placed a ten on the table before running out.

Kirsty watched her leave, shaking her head. "You're in over your head," she muttered, glancing down at the bill. "And I told you I'd pay for lunch."


	4. Saturday Night

_Just a precaution - there's gonna be some pretty gruesome imagery in this one. _

* * *

Chapter 4: Saturday Night

Pillow? Nah. Tonight she was shoving this thing into her closet, behind all the jackets she'd ignore until the chill of fall came around.

"I have to get some proper rest tonight." Was she talking to herself or the box? She wasn't sure, but she still shifted the box around until it was snugly nestled into the fabric, and closed the closet door completely.

The lamp at her desk remained on as she dropped herself into the bed and curled up. She eyed the closet door for what could have been anywhere from five minutes to an hour. Once she'd convinced herself it wasn't going anywhere, however, she let her eyes sink shut and sleep take hold.

* * *

"Are you _kidding _me?"

The leather-bound strangers were nowhere to be seen, but she was still in the dark. She wasn't alone. The scent from the last two dreams greeted her. It surrounded her, and she nearly choked in its pungent embrace.

As in waking, in sleep she was underdressed – a tank top, some shorts. She'd figured it wouldn't matter since it wasn't close – but now she was exposed and vulnerable, even if there was space to run.

This place was not enclosed. She looked out on a vast expanse of walls and paths working downward in curves and sharp turns, further into the darkness than she could make out. She felt like there was something behind her, as occasionally a black beam would pass over her head. Cold stone caressed her back as the scent stroked her face, and she pushed herself forward.

She could see ahead of her now, even with a faint fog before her. It clung to the hairs on her skin in tiny droplets as she slowly moved forward, one hand remaining on the wall to her side. Somehow it felt safer.

It wasn't less than two minutes later that Saige realized that all was not quiet. There was a faint humming surrounding her but far away, and she never seemed to get further or closer to it. It was low and uneven in sound, but its presence was like that of the perfume – she couldn't ignore it.

A door revealed itself as she turned a corner, a small window barred with iron. Saige had to stand on her toes to peer in. Hopefully it was something other than this gray maze.

Well, it was certainly different, but Saige's stomach tied itself in knots. A couple in an embrace – or was it two? She couldn't tell because they moved as if set in slow motion, an afterimage trailing behind them. Their fingers grabbed one another's flew and sunk in, too far, peeling away strips of skin as they moved. Red streaked down their bodies – even with them far away Saige could see a darker shade staining the woman's breast. The man shifted and Saige pulled herself away, closing her eyes and swallowing.

The man had been reaching into her chest for her heart.

Saige's breath was short and fast, and their moaning was slow and she couldn't tell if they were in pain or sensual rapture. She tried to focus back on the humming. She could hear distinct noises in it if she focused hard enough, or perhaps just groups of noises, fading in and rising up in all pitches and volumes, to create this wall of sound that hung around this place like the fog.

Once again, terror seeped into her mind as the sounds became distinct, and her eyes widened with horrified clarity.

The humming was a chorus of agonized moaning.

"Not many can hear the song in it."

Saige nearly jumped out of her skin at the voice, and scrambled to the wall facing the one she'd been leaning on.

Even with his eyes covered he was able to face her, and the world wasn't so dark that she couldn't pick out more details about him. As she'd suspected, he was covered in ash where he wasn't bound in leather or strategically ripped open, and dust fell from his lips. In the crooks of him armpits two growths extended past his waist and disappeared behind it, also bound in leather. There was a buckle securing a belt that looked a bit too tight around his neck.

He stepped forward, and she stepped back, and her back met the stone and scraped against bits of metal jutting out.

"What do you want from me?" She stared at the metal casing around his head as he came closer, his left hand reaching to touch her face while his right found her shoulder, no answer leaving his lips. It was when she felt a third touch, on her hip, that she finally broke what she'd hoped was eye contact. Another ashy hand was on her side, sliding underneath her shirt and slowly sinking its nails into her skin.

Those growths were a second pair of arms.

"Wrong question, Saige Simmons." Her eyes went back to the metal, her side burning as the nails broke skin. "What you should be asking is what it is _you _want. You tremble now, but you do not run or pull away from me when I approach. Why is that, Saige?"

He leaned closer, and ash flecked onto her lips when he let out a breath.

"I look forward to having you join us, if you open the box. But if you're going to, there's one thing I need you to do first."

"And what's that?" What had gotten _into _her? The figure leaned to her side, his lip against her ear. The hand on her side squeezed when he spoke.

"Wake up."

* * *

Saige's eyes snapped open with the sound of a click in her hands. She flung whatever it was forward, and it hit the wall. She was sweaty and clammy. She looked down at the bed.

Her side was bleeding.

Saige ran to the bathroom to put ointment on it before returning to her room and turning on the light. She faced the direction the bed pointed. What had she thrown?

On the floor and half-solved was the puzzle box.


End file.
